


Confession

by silentdescant



Series: Snapshots [39]
Category: Pentatonix
Genre: Blow Jobs, Catholic, Church Sex, M/M, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 08:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8571502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: He comes in here twice a week.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some religion kink leatherchoked and Raq

Mitch’s shoulders hit the confessional wall painfully hard when Jason slams into him, crushing their lips together immediately. His hand comes up immediately to cradle the back of Mitch’s head, though, and Mitch melts into his embrace. Jason’s kiss is powerful and demanding, and Mitch is breathless within moments. He clings to Jason’s broad shoulders, fingernails scraping weakly against the shirt stretched tight across them. Jason’s left hand slides purposefully down the slope of Mitch’s back and he pulls their bodies flush together. Mitch can feel Jason’s erection against his thigh.

Mitch stumbles without the steadying wall behind him, tripping over his own feet and then over the corner of the kneeler. Jason pushes on his shoulder and Mitch slithers down smoothly, rucking up his shirt when he slides down Jason’s legs. He breathes hard as he settles on his knees, his chest heaving.

Jason unzips his pants and takes out his hard cock, tucking his underwear out of the way. He reaches for Mitch but Mitch is too quick for him, already diving forward and taking Jason into his mouth. He sucks eagerly, his mouth watering at the taste of Jason’s precome blooming on his tongue. He groans, eyelids fluttering closed.

Jason clenches his fist in Mitch’s hair to get his attention. “Quiet,” he whispers urgently. “Stay quiet.”

With his hand in Mitch’s hair, he takes control and sets a quick pace, holding Mitch still so he can fuck Mitch’s mouth. It’s rougher than Mitch is used to, deeper too, and he gags but Jason doesn’t let him up. He barely has room to catch his breath before Jason thrusts in deep again, and Mitch’s eyes are watering. His mouth is too; spit and precome drip from his slack lips.

“Are you touching yourself?” Jason mutters.

Mitch isn’t. He lets go of Jason’s slacks and drops his hands to his own lap, presses his palm against his cock straining against his pants. He loses focus, torn between Jason’s overwhelming control and his own hand frantically rubbing himself through his slacks.

He comes before Jason does. He chokes, yanks his head back to cough. He tips sideways, nearly hitting his head on the narrow shelf beneath the screen. He leans his elbow on the kneeler, heaving in deep breath after deep breath.

“Stay quiet, stay quiet,” Jason hisses through clenched teeth. He’s stroking himself now, and Mitch blinks up at him, desperate for a taste. He opens his mouth and sits up and waits for Jason to push in again, but he doesn’t. Instead he aims his cock down and comes right across Mitch’s face, shooting into Mitch’s mouth and on his lips and chin.

Jason shuffles backward until he hits the opposite wall. He’s panting, staring at Mitch, at the come on Mitch’s face.

The confessional is so stuffy, the air thick with heat and the intoxicating scent of sex. Mitch swallows. Licks his lips, swallows again. Jason tucks himself away and zips up. He has to step over Mitch’s legs to reach the door.

“Wait a few minutes before you leave,” he whispers.

“I know.”

Then Mitch is alone in the dark booth. His underwear is sticky with come, and there’s some on his face still. He wipes his chin, sucks his fingers into his mouth to clean them off. There’s not much he can do about his pants except hope his shirt will cover the stain when he stands up. He can’t stand up yet. His legs feel shaky and unsteady and he’s still on his ass, leaning against the wall.

He looks up at the closed screen. He comes in here twice every week. Once on Sundays, while at church with his parents, and once on Wednesdays, after choir rehearsal with Jason. Every week it’s the same. Every week he craves more. He feels sick to his stomach. This is slowly turning into an addiction.

“Bless me, Father,” he whispers, “for I have sinned. And I’m gonna sin again. I can’t—I need it. I’m sorry, Father, I just…”

Mitch falls silent, his eyes roaming over the pattern of the grating, the wood grain of the walls, barely visible in the darkness. He licks his lips and scrubs his hands through his mussed hair. He can still taste Jason’s come in his mouth.

He pushes himself to his feet. It’s been long enough. He can’t stay in here another moment.

He straightens his shirt, tugging it down over the front of his pants, and wipes his face one last time before pressing his hand to the door. He listens for a moment, almost scared to breathe. There’s no left one in the nave. Rehearsal is over. Jason’s gone. All Mitch has to do is avoid the choir director on his way out.

“I need it,” he says again, and opens the door.

 

 _fin_.


End file.
